Where There Is Anger
by Angst Is My Middle Name
Summary: "The day starts out as innocently as any other at Station 51.. Chet Kelly is the last one to roll call (as usual), earning him latrine duty (as usual)..The lineman is uncharacteristically silent as he goes about his morning chores..Everyone has days where they're quiet and off, and today is just his day. Johnny, however, is not seeing it that way." Warnings inside. Strong Language.
1. Stanley

**_Warnings: strong language, some violence, some bullying, mentions of cancer in/death due to cancer of an offscreen character, 2nd POV. _**

**_Edited: 1 March 2015; long author's note deleted._**

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_Where there is anger, there is always pain underneath._

-Eckhart Tolle

The day starts out as innocently as any other at Station 51, if a little quieter. Chet Kelly is the last one to roll call (as usual), earning him latrine duty (as usual). Typically, this assignment would result in the young lineman spitting out a one-liner or making a face, but not today. He just nods, straight-faced, accepting it without complaint. The lineman is uncharacteristically silent as he goes about his morning chores: no jokes, no pranks, no sniping with Johnny. You just let it go. Everyone has days where they're quiet and off, and today is just his day. Johnny, however, is not seeing it that way.

Johnny spends the whole shift needling Chet about what's wrong, why he's so quiet, but you let him go, too. He's probably just worried about Chet and trying to draw him into his usual behavior. He's a good kid, after all, and he won't push Chet too far… at least you hope he won't. Roy will probably rein him in before it gets too far. You try to keep a close eye on Chet anyway, wanting to be sure nothing is _too_ wrong. Only two hours into the shift, while the squad is on a run, Marco comes to you with concerns, his brow knit, his concerns very similar to your own. You just tell him to keep an eye on Chet, especially when you're on a run. It won't do to have Chet spacing out at a fire where he could get hurt or worse. You shudder at the thought. You watch him around the station, noting that he doesn't seem distracted. Just quiet.

It's a quiet shift, and you have yet to decide if that's good or bad. Chet works fine when the engine does get a run or two, so that isn't a problem. If anything, you notice that he's more focused at the fire than usual, almost anticipating your orders (not that he's ever not focused at a fire). Unfortunately, a quiet shift means a restless Johnny, and a restless Johnny means trouble. You take note that Chet makes an effort to make himself scarce where Johnny is concerned, to avoid Johnny and his sniping, which can also be interpreted one of two ways. Chet is at least smart enough to leave well enough alone, but if he has to take pains to avoid Johnny's taunts, it means they're getting to him. Marco voices the same concerns, as does Roy. You tell them to keep an eye on things, to keep the two youngest men apart, to just try and make it through the shift without incident. You're still fairly new to Station 51's A-shift, fairly new to being a captain, and you don't want to be too quick to police behavior like some captains you've known through your career. All everyone has to do is make it through until the end of the shift, and a day off will help heal the whole situation.

Well, you have to say, the shift _is_ over before it happens.

Johnny, apparently unable to leave well enough alone, continues taunting Chet in the locker room, going over to stand by Chet while the lineman changes into his civvies.

"Come on, Chester B, what's the matter? That pretty 'lil thing you were seein' finally get sick of ya?"

Chet's whole body tenses up.

"Now, what was her-? Oh, _Laura_. That's it. Laura drop ya?"

"Gage, I'm warnin' you," Chet grinds out, "Drop it or I'll-"

"Or you'll what? Come on, I'm just tryin' to have a 'lil fun with ya."

"Well, I'm not havin' fun, so how 'bout you stop tryin'," Chet snaps.

Tension hangs thick in the air, but you hang back, still observing. You need to see how they handle themselves here. You need to see the dynamics. The rest of the crew moves closer, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Aw, lighten up, Chet," Johnny smirks, "You been a wet blanket all day."

"Johnny," Roy mutters, reaching for the young paramedic's arm, "come on, Junior, just drop it and-"

"No! He's allowed to pick on me when I'm feelin' like shit! What, Kelly, can't take your own medicine?"

"Goddammit, Gage, I told you-"

"At least I know it's Laura's got you upset-"

"Shut the fuck up-"

"Come on, why'd she do it, Kelly? She don't like your winning personality?"

Chet is so tense the muscles of his arms are corded, his hands clenched into fists, a vein pulsing in his neck. Johnny goes on, sneering, "Or maybe it was your stupid fuckin' jokes? That dumbass moustache? Your shitty cookin'?"

"Gage, I swear to God, you shut the fuck up or-"

"-'cause it looks to me like maybe she was doin' the cookin' for ya. Givin' ya four meals a day, looks to me. Maybe that's her thing, y'know," he tells Chet, stepping closer to him, "feed a guy up then dump his fat ass-"

Johnny punctuates this remark with a rough poke to Chet's midsection that earns him a vicious right hook. Johnny hits the floor, and all hell breaks loose. The locker room erupts with shouts. Chet has Johnny pinned, landing quick jabs and bellowing at him. Johnny yells back, trying to fend off Chet's blows. You are the first one into the fray, grabbing Chet and hauling him off Johnny while he spits vitriol at the paramedic. Roy and Mike jump in to hold Johnny back, the young man howling and swearing. Chet squirms wildly in your arms, almost sending you both crashing into the lockers, but Marco rushes to your aid, the two of you hauling Chet out of the locker room to the office while you bark orders for everyone to stay where they are.

"Sit down, Chet! Sit-! Dammit, Kelly, listen to me!" you shout, shoving him into a chair and practically pinning him there, "Sit here and calm yourself down, Kelly! You sit here and wait for me to come back, understand?"

Chet is breathing heavily, tears in his eyes, his whole body still tense and shaking. He's half-dressed, wearing only an undershirt, unbuttoned jeans, and socks. You tell Marco to stay with Chet, and you go back to the locker room to deal with Johnny. Roy is tending to Johnny's face. He has a bloody nose and a split lip, and you're sure he'll have some impressive bruising for the next week or so. The bleeding paramedic looks at you briefly, wincing at Roy's prodding.

"Would you like to tell me what that was about, Gage?" you ask.

"Why don't you ask- ow!- ask Chet? He's the one who jumped me and-"

"He wouldn't've done that if you coulda just left well enough alone!" you snap, "Now, I was tryin' to let you be an adult, tryin' to let you stop on your own and see your own mistake, but you just had to keep pushin' him. Wouldn't let Roy here tell you otherwise or try to help you. Wouldn't let the fact that Chet was clearly upset stop you. You just had to keep pushin' and now you're mad 'cause he pushed back."

"Cap, you hear him do that shit to me all the time! He's always jokin' and rilin' me-"

"Yeah, he _jokes_ with you, Gage. It's always good-natured. What you were doin' wasn't joking," you tell him firmly, "What you were doin' was downright bullying, and I will not tolerate that kind of behavior from grown men when I don't even tolerate it from my daughters. Do you understand me?"

Your voice is sharp and clear. Johnny is beginning to look properly sheepish, but it's not quite sheepish enough.

"Here's what you're gonna do, Gage. You're gonna sit here and let Roy fix you up and give you his lecture while I talk to Chet. Then, you're gonna go home and think about what you did, and when I see you here for our next shift, you are going to apologize to Chet for your behavior today, do I make myself clear?"

"Yessir. Crystal."

"Good. Roy, Mike, take care of this ja-... this twit."

Both men nod, and you return to the office. Chet is still agitated and tense, Marco trying his best to soothe him. The young lineman jumps when you enter the room, his face still red, his eyes still wet. You grab a chair and sit in front of Chet, Marco moving to stand at his side, his hand not leaving Chet's shoulder. Chet's expression is a mixture of anger, a bit of fear, and something you can't quite place. You sigh, looking Chet right in the eye, and tell him, "I'm sorry, Chet."

That surprises him enough to abate his anger some. He blinks at you but says nothing, so you explain, "I mean that. I should've spoken to Johnny earlier about his behavior. I shouldn't've let him push you like that. I honestly think he started out joking, but at some point it crossed a line, and that's when I should've stepped in. I guess I was hopin' he'd shape up and listen to Roy so I wouldn't have to step in. I guess I wanted to see if you guys could handle it yourselves… and I didn't think it was so serious it would come to blows."

"I'm sorry, Cap, I didn't mean to hit him," Chet tells you earnestly, "Honest I didn't. I just-… he just kept pushin' and-and I couldn't-… I was just so mad, Cap. I-I didn't even realize I was-"

"It's alright, Chet. I'm not gonna punish you for something that's not your fault. I would like to talk to you, though," you say, then look to the other lineman, "Marco, would you give us some privacy please?"

He clearly doesn't want to, but he replies, "Sure thing, Cap. Chet, I'll wait up for you, amigo," giving Chet's shoulder a squeeze and heading out of the office. Maybe he would give Johnny a lecture, too. Chet watches him go, his body still tense, still clenching his fists. You have some work to do.

"Would you like to talk to me about what's going on, Chet?" you ask carefully, your tone gentle, "It seems to me like there's been a lot on your mind since you got here yesterday morning."

"Did I screw up on a run-?"

"No, no, you did just fine on those few runs we had, just as good as usual. Just… that was a very strong reaction you had in there, and you weren't yourself here around the station this past shift. I can tell something's bothering you. Marco, too."

Chet casts his eyes down at his lap. You wait patiently for him to speak, not wanting to push him. It's a trick you use on your daughters when they're tight-lipped about their problems, so you're hoping it works on young firemen, too.

"It's-… will this stay between us, Cap? Just me and you?" Chet asks, his voice thick.

"Absolutely. I won't share anything you don't want me to."

He picks his head up slightly but doesn't look at you directly. You catch sight of his lip trembling beneath his moustache. He sniffs loudly. You wait.

"It's-it's my mom," he says at last, "She-… she was, uh, was diagnosed with-with lung cancer earlier this year, and it's-… she's not doing too good, Cap."

Your heart clenches in your chest, aching for the young fireman.

"Chet, I'm very sorry to hear that. I wish you would've told me sooner. I'd have arranged some time off for you."

"I-I can't. I have to help pay the medical bills. She doesn't have any money anymore, and my brother-…nevermind. I've been pickin' up OT, actually, just to make ends meet for me and her. Last week, I-… she asked me to clean out her apartment and-and let the landlord know it was open to rent out again. He was, uh, was really good about it, but I just finished yesterday, and-… it's just-…"

Chet sucks in a shuddering breath, wiping at his eyes. You want nothing more than to wrap him up in a hug and tell him it'll be okay. Your own mother passed not too long ago, so you can relate to his problem, though your mother died in her sleep rather than of a lingering illness. Chet wipes at his eyes again.

"Is there anything else bothering you? I mean, that seems like enough, but I feel like there's a little more behind it. Please, Chet, keep talking."

"There's just been a lot to deal with lately, with Mom bein' sick, and I- now you gotta promise not to laugh, okay?"

You reach out and lay a hand on his shoulder, assuring him, "I promise, Chet. I won't laugh."

His face is red anyway. He sniffs and tells you quietly, "Well… like I said, I been under a lot of stress, and when I'm stressed out, I… I eat a lot. More than usual. And Johnny was right. Laura did break up with me… like two days ago."

"Did she say why?"

"Yeah… yeah, she told me I wasn't payin' her enough attention, you believe that shit, Cap? My life is a fuckin' disaster right now, and she's pissed I'm not takin' her out enough."

Anger flares in your chest, but you push it away. That's not what Chet needs right now. He continues, "Add that to me puttin' on some extra weight, especially when I was picked on as a kid for-for bein' fat, and Johnny just got on my last fuckin' nerve in there."

"Sounds to me like he deserved it," you say gently, "Thank you for telling me all that, Chet. I know how hard it can be to confide in your captain, especially a new one. I just wish you would've told me sooner. We're here to help you, every man on this shift, and I wish we could've helped you before now, in anyway you needed us to. We're not just your coworkers here. We're your friends. If you want my opinion, I think you oughta tell the guys what's going on, but it's entirely up to you, and I promised you already I wouldn't share anything without your go-ahead, and I can't tell you what to do. I would like to be informed of what's going on with your mother, though, especially because it's upsetting you, okay, pal?"

Chet nods, saying, "I will, Cap. I'll keep you updated."

You are confident that means he won't tell anyone else what's going on with his mother, though he'd probably come up with something to tell Johnny on their next shift to explain his own behavior. You tell Chet, "That means you call me whenever you need me, can call my home day or night. I want you to ask for help if you need it. You don't have to go this alone, alright?"

"Yes, Cap."

"Good. Now, are you alright to drive home, Chet?"

"I think so. I think I'll be okay."

You give him a gentle smile and squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. He smiles back, though it's far from his usual grin or smirk, and heads out of the office. True to his word, Marco is waiting for him. You watch the two of them walk into the locker room so Chet can finish changing, pleased to note both Roy and Johnny have already left. Approaching footsteps draw your attention.

"Is he alright, Cap?" Mike asks, stepping up beside you.

"He will be. I have no doubt about that. Come on, Mike, let's get outta here."

He stares at you for a long moment, his blue eyes piercing. It's an odd action, but you're becoming used to him doing it. The two of you go in and tidy up the office and make sure you left nothing in the locker room before heading out to the parking lot. Chet and Marco are already out there, seated in Chet's grubby old van. You don't look at them too closely and don't slow down, not wanting them to know you saw them. From your brief glance, it looks like Chet's crying, crying hard, and you know he wouldn't want you to see that.

Chet calls your home a month later, in mid-August of '71, his voice thick and broken, informing you that his mother died earlier in the afternoon.

"You take all the time you need, Chet," you tell him softly, "I'll make sure everything at the station is taken care of. You do what you need to do, okay? It'll be alright."

_"I know,"_ he chokes, _"but it doesn't make it any easier. It-… it hurts, Cap."_

"Believe me, pal, I know it. I know. You want some company?"

_"No."_

"Do you _need_ some company?" you ask quietly, gently.

_"…yeah… yeah, I do."_

"Alright, I'll be right over, Chet."

You hang up the phone and grab your keys. Ginny comes in while you're putting on your shoes.

"Where are you going, Hank? Dinner's gonna be ready soon."

Rising from your chair, you give her a peck on the cheek and simply tell her, "One of my boys needs me."


	2. Gage

_**After much thought (and wanting to procrastinate on my schoolwork some more), I decided to create a few more chapters for this one, just to elaborate on the thoughts of some of the major players. **_

_**The same warnings apply: some strong language, some violence, and bullying. I ask that any comments or reviews left are respectful.**_

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"…and Kelly, latrines," Cap says, " Alright, men, let's get to work."

Chet doesn't even make a comment or a face when he's assigned latrine duty, which piques your interest. He always complains about latrine duty. You watch him slump off for the latrine and ask Roy what he thinks is wrong is with Chet. Roy tells you, "Well, it's none of our business if he doesn't wanna make it our business. Now, c'mon, we got the dorm to clean."

"But, Roy, Chet's-"

"Look, just let him be, Junior. He's quiet for a change."

'Let him be' is not what you plan on doing. Besides, when have the guys ever told him to let you be? Exactly. If it's something really bad, he'd let everyone know. It's not like somebody's dying. He probably just had that girl he was seeing break up with him and just needs some cheering up, needs to know it's just another day. That'll cheer him up and make him forget all about… whatshername.

So you kind of needle him when you can, asking him what's wrong and why he's so quiet, but he just brushes you off. The shift is a quiet one, so you have plenty of time to try and talk to him. Eventually, he just starts to make himself scarce when you're there. Roy hints that maybe you should lay off, and the suggestion only serves to make you feel angrier. No one ever tells Chet to lay off when you're upset. They just let him go on and on. So maybe you move from teasing to taunting. What's the big deal?

Roy finds excuses to keep you in the bay with the squad or in the locker room, finds reasons for you to be away from Chet. Cap hasn't said anything to you personally about the matter as yet, so really, you haven't actually done anything wrong (no matter what the little voice at the back of your head tries to tell you). Giving Chet a taste of his own medicine feels pretty good, and that good feeling fuels new taunts and comments. You tell yourself he deserves it just to quiet that little voice.

Chet's putting on his civvies in the morning when you approach him in the locker room, smirking.

"Come on, Chester B, what's the matter? That pretty 'lil thing you were seein' finally get sick of ya?"

Chet's whole body tenses up, and something about it makes you keep going.

"Now, what was her-? Oh, _Laura_. That's it. Laura drop ya?"

"Gage, I'm warnin' you," Chet grinds out, his voice tight, "Drop it or I'll-"

"Or you'll what? Come on, I'm just tryin' to have a 'lil fun with ya."

"Well, I'm not havin' fun, so how 'bout you stop tryin'," he snaps.

That's how you feel when he picks on you. You can see it. You're getting to him.

"Aw, lighten up, Chet. You been a wet blanket all day," you tell him, still smirking.

"Johnny, come on, Junior," Roy mutters, reaching for your arm, "just drop it and-"

"No!" you half-shout, tugging your arm out of his grasp, "He's allowed to pick on me when I'm feelin' like shit! What, Kelly, can't take your own medicine?"

"Goddammit, Gage, I told you-"

"At least I know it's Laura's got you upset-"

"Shut the fuck up-"

"Come on, why'd she do it, Kelly? She don't like your winning personality?"

You're beyond angry at him now, and you're not even sure why. You just want to keep pushing and pushing until he breaks and damn the consequences. The next words that come out of your mouth are a sneer, "Or maybe it was your stupid fuckin' jokes? That dumbass moustache? Your shitty cookin'?"

Chet is shaking.

"Gage, I swear to God, you shut the fuck up or-"

"-'cause it looks to me like maybe she was doin' the cookin' for ya. Givin' ya four meals a day, looks to me. Maybe that's her thing, y'know," you tell Chet, stepping closer, wanting to get him where it hurts, "feed a guy up then dump his fat ass-"

To drive your point home, you give Chet a rough poke to the midsection. You are in no way prepared for his fist to connect with your jaw. The hook sends you crashing to the floor. The noise in the locker room is deafening. Chet's on top of you, pinning you to the floor, trying to land blows you can't entirely defend yourself from. Both of you are howling obscenities at each other. Cap manages to haul Chet off of you, and you scramble to your feet only to have Roy and Mike hold you back. Cap barks at everyone to stay where they're at while he and Marco haul Chet into the office.

Roy quickly fetches the first aid kit and comes back to patch up your face, asking, "What the hell, John?"

"No one ever tells him to leave me alone," you tell him resentfully, "Not when some chick dumps me or when I can't figure somethin' out or-or when he kep' makin' those cracks about me bein' Indian. He's upset one day, and I have to be nice and 'leave him be' but he can do whatever he wants to me whenever he wants! It's not fair, Roy!"

You know you sound more like a petulant child than anything else, but you can't find it in yourself to care right now. Right now, your face hurts, but you feel justified. You did nothing any more wrong than anything Chet has ever done to you. Cap's return draws your attention, though you wince as Roy touches a sensitive spot.

"Would you like to tell me what that was about, Gage?"

His tone is accusatory, and it ruffles your feathers even more.

"Why don't you ask- ow!- ask Chet? He's the one who jumped me and-"

"He wouldn't've done that if you coulda just left well enough alone!" the captain snaps, "Now, I was tryin' to let you be an adult, tryin' to let you stop on your own and see your own mistake, but you just _had_ to keep pushin' him. Wouldn't let Roy here tell you otherwise or try to help you. Wouldn't let the fact that Chet was _clearly_ upset stop you. You just had to keep pushin' and now you're mad 'cause he pushed back."

You blink up at Cap. He cannot be serious. This is not your fault.

"Cap, you hear him do that shit to me all the time! He's always jokin' and rilin' me-"

"Yeah, he _jokes_ with you, Gage. It's always good-natured. What you were doin' wasn't joking. What you were doin' was downright bullying," Cap states firmly, and you flinch a little, "and I will not tolerate that kind of behavior from grown men when I don't even tolerate it from my daughters. Do you understand me?"

Cap's voice is sharp and clear. Heat creeps up your neck, embarrassment ebbing in to replace the anger. You hope it shows as Cap continues, "Here's what you're gonna do, Gage. You're gonna sit here and let Roy fix you up and give you _his_ lecture while I talk to Chet. Then, you're gonna go home and think about what you did, and when I see you here for our next shift, you are going to apologize to Chet for your behavior today, do I make myself clear?"

"Yessir," you murmur sheepishly, "Crystal."

"Good. Roy, Mike, take care of this ja-... this twit."

You probably deserve that. No, you definitely deserve that. You did behave like a bully and a jackass. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, bringing back the taste of blood, and you find that you can't look at Roy. For his part, Roy says nothing, and Mike has been silently observing the whole scenario. Your partner simply keeps tending to your face.

"Well, ain't ya gonna chew me out, Roy?" you ask quietly, not looking at him.

"Seems to me like you're comin' to your senses, Junior. Besides, when Marco comes in here…"

He leaves it unfinished, but you know what's implied. Marco and Chet aren't just partners but also very good friends. Surely Marco doesn't appreciate your actions today. You're not particularly proud of yourself anymore, either. Your stomach gives an uncomfortable flop at the sound of approaching footsteps; they belong to Marco. You don't look up, heat flooding your face and shame pulsing through your veins. You feel the older lineman's eyes on you but refuse to look up, staring down at your wringing hands.

"John, please…" Marco says quietly, "I just-… why'd you do it?"

He doesn't sound angry. He sounds disappointed, and that's worse than angry, just like when you were a kid and your uncle caught you at something you weren't supposed to be doing. It's the exact same tone of voice.

"I was… was just mad, I guess. Anytime I'm upset about somethin', y'all just brush it off… like 'oh, there's Johnny just bein' worked up' and like whatever my feelin's are aren-aren't valid or somethin'," you explain, "Y'all always laugh when Chet picks on me with waterbombs or flour bombs or with short-sheetin' my bunk or-or those coupla weeks ago when he was pickin' on me for bein' Indian. When does he ever get told to leave _me_ be, huh? So… I dunno, it just felt kinda good makin' him feel the way he makes me feel when he pulls that shit, and I just-… I just couldn't stop myself once I got goin'. Then, with everyone tellin' me to leave him be and all that, I-… it just made me wanna get to him even more. I know it's-it's childish, but it's the truth."

You finally look up at Marco, meeting the rich brown eyes. He doesn't look mad, just troubled, worry showing in the faint lines in his face. Your stomach gives another uncomfortable flop, and you ask, "Do… do you know what's wrong?"

Marco shakes his head, answering, "He didn't tell me what's wrong, but I hope he will. All I know is it's gotta be pretty bad for him to be so worked up. Honestly, John, you should probably leave before Cap and Chet come out of the office. I don't know if Chet's gonna be cooled off yet."

"Yeah, well, if he wanted to hit me again, I think I'd let him. I really deserved it."

Marco shrugs, and you know he agrees. You absolutely deserved it. You sigh and run a shaky hand through your hair. Roy puts the first aid kit away and pulls you to your feet, the two of you heading out to your cars to go home.

When you return the next morning, you carefully approach Chet following roll call and assignments. The look he gives you is apprehensive, and it turns your stomach.

"Uh, Chet… I- uh…" you clear your throat, wet your lips, "I'm sorry for all the shit I said the other day. I mean it. I really am sorry. I was so caught up in my own feelin's I didn't stop to think about yours… except for-for tryin' to hurt you. I won't say I didn't know what I was doin' 'cause I did, but I am really, _truly_ sorry I did it, Chet. I hope you can forgive me, but if you can't, I understand."

Chet is silent for a long moment, but you aren't looking at him. You can't look at him. You don't deserve to look at him, not after what you did.

"Well… well, I guess… I guess I can forgive you, Johnny," he speaks up at last, "I mean, you didn't really know what you were doin', even if you sort of did. You didn't know why I was so upset. I'm still kinda mad at you, but… but we're okay. So don't do anything stupid like-like put in a transfer or somethin'…"

The remark makes you snort quietly, and some of the tension ebbs away… though you wonder how he knew you were considering that as an option.

"I promise, Chet, I'll let ya set all the waterbombs you want for the next week or month or whatever you want, and I won't even complain."

"Yeah, you'll complain."

"Okay, I'll complain, but not as much as usual."

Chet snickers, saying, "I'm surprised you didn't complain about getting latrines today."

"Well, I was the last one here, Chet. We all know the last one here gets latrines."

He looks up at you, his brow knitted with confusion at the smirk you give him. So what if you were the last one on purpose? Your smirk widens as realization dawns on Chet's face. There's a hint of a smile on his face as he tells you, "John Gage… you're a great guy… sometimes."

"I have my moments. Now, get outta here, I've got a latrine to clean."

"Alright, alright, I'm goin'…"

"Oh, Chet?"

He stops in the doorway, turning blue eyes on you.

"Uh, thanks… for forgiving me. I mean that," you say earnestly, "And if you ever need to talk about anything, anything at all, you can talk to me… if you still wanna be friends, that is."

"I think we can still be friends, Johnny," he replies, then sighs heavily, scrubbing at his face, "I'm just dealin' with a lot right now, a lot I-I don't really wanna talk about… but if I need it, I'll know I can come to you, even if you do give shitty advice. Seriously, though… we're okay, Johnny."

You open your mouth to reply, but the tones drop for a squad call, stabbing victim, and you hurry out to the bay, giving Chet a smile and a pat on the back on your way out.

"Everything alright with you and Chet?" Roy asks in the squad.

"Yeah… yeah, I think it is."

You retrieve the map from the glove compartment and settle into your usual position, feeling a small weight lifted from your shoulders. You only wish Chet would talk to you so you could help lift some of the weight under which you helped break him.


	3. Lopez

**_I did my best to research the Spanish, but if anything is severely wrong, let me know. _**

**_(Please keep in mind that Mexican Spanish is not always Spain Spanish and has differing slang terms before you ask me to make a correction.)_**

* * *

You've only been on shift for two hours when you go into Cap's office. Things haven't been right since Chet showed up, behaving far too quiet and withdrawn for anything to go on normally at the station, and it has you worried. Chet's not quiet. Chet's loud. He's obvious. He's borderline obnoxious. You keep an eye on him, wanting to be sure he's not distracted. You don't want him going out on a run if he's distracted. Distraction could get him hurt or worse.

John can't seem to leave him be, like a dog with a bone, and Chet's clearly making an effort to keep himself away from him. The squad's on a run now, so you knock on Cap's door and go in, asking, "Cap, can I talk to you for a minute?"

He waves you in, directing you to sit in the chair facing him.

"It's about Chet and John," you tell him without preamble, "Chet seems kinda out of it today, Cap, and John won't leave him alone. Two hours in, and I'm not sure Chet's gonna make it through the shift."

"Do you think he might get hurt if we go on a run? Or get someone else hurt?"

"I-I don't really know, Cap. He doesn't really seem _distracted_, I guess, doesn't seem truly out of it. He's ready with an answer if you ask him a question, just… something's wrong, Cap, and I just wish I knew what I could do to help."

"I think we all do, pal, but if he won't talk-"

"Why won't he talk, though? That's not like him. We're all his friends here. Doesn't he know he can talk to us?"

"I couldn't say, Marco. For now, I think we should just keep an eye on things, and keep Chet and John away from each other as much as possible to avoid a blow up. I don't think it'll come to blows or anything, but it'll be for the best, I think. I don't wanna get involved, so I'm gonna leave it up to you guys."

You just nod, a tendril of anger creeping into your mind. It makes sense. Captain Stanley is new to being a captain. 51s is his first command, so he probably just wants to give you all some leeway, wants to give you the chance to sort it out yourselves. The logic, of course, is sound, leaving you without an argument. You purse your lips but agree and leave the office. Chet's still in the latrine, finishing his cleaning, so you go in to keep him company and hopefully fend off John when he returns.

Cap wasn't quite right about one thing. You're finishing up in the kitchen when you hear raised voices from the locker room and go to investigate. Chet's standing by his locker, in the middle of getting changed, every muscle in his body tense.

"Aw, lighten up, Chet," John smirks, "You been a wet blanket all day."

Roy reaches for his partner's arm, muttering, "Johnny, come on, Junior, just drop it and-"

"No!" John half-shouts in reply, wrenching his arm away from Roy's grasp, "He's allowed to pick on me when I'm feelin' like shit! What, Kelly, can't take your own medicine?"

"Goddammit, Gage, I told you-"

"At least I know it's Laura's got you upset-"

"Shut the fuck up-"

"Come on, why'd she do it, Kelly? She don't like your winning personality?"

Chet's shaking with rage, the muscles of his arms corded, his hands clenched into fists. There's a vein pulsing in your partner's neck as John sneers, "Or maybe it was your stupid fuckin' jokes? That dumbass moustache? Your shitty cookin'?"

You're transfixed, frozen in place. It's like everything happening in front of you isn't real. Your stomach churns.

"Gage, I swear to God, you shut the fuck up or-"

"-'cause it looks to me like maybe she was doin' the cookin' for ya. Givin' ya four meals a day, looks to me. Maybe that's her thing, y'know," John tells Chet, stepping closer to him, wearing a nasty smirk, "feed a guy up then dump his fat ass-"

John gives Chet a rough poke to the midsection, jabbing his finger into Chet's side. Chet moves faster than you've ever seen, swinging his fist up in a right hook that connects with John's jaw and sends him crashing to the floor. Both start bellowing obscenities at each other, Chet pinning John and raining blows that John does his best to fend off. Cap jumps in to pull Chet off him and you follow, finally pulled out of your shock. Chet squirms wildly in Cap's grip, and it's only due to your intervention they don't go crashing sideways into the lockers. You help drag him into the office and try to avoid his flailing limbs.

"Sit down, Chet! Sit-! Dammit, Kelly, listen to me!" Cap shouts, all but throwing Chet into a chair and pinning him there, "Sit here and calm yourself down, Kelly! You sit here and wait for me to come back, understand?"

You settle a hand on Chet's shoulder. Cap says, "Stay with him, Marco," and heads out, hopefully to chew John out. Chet's chest is heaving with ragged breaths, his whole body tense and shaking, his blue eyes shining with tears. He's wearing only his undershirt, unbuttoned jeans, and socks, having been interrupted halfway through changing. You walk around and kneel in front of him, resting your hands on his knees near his balled fists.

"Chet… hey, _mi carnal_, look at me," you say quietly, "Come on, you gotta calm down…"

His muscles look tight enough to snap. He's red in the face and breathing hard and looking anywhere but at you. You continue, "Look, it's okay, Chet. Whatever's goin' on, it'll be okay…" and keep speaking in the same soothing tone you sometimes use on your children or on distraught victims at a scene. Chet jumps when Cap returns. You rise to your feet and move to stand at Chet's side while Cap brings a chair around to sit in front of your partner. The older man heaves a sigh and tells him, "I'm sorry, Chet."

You see Chet blink at Cap, some of the anger fading from his expression. Cap explains, "I mean that. I should've spoken to Johnny earlier about his behavior. I shouldn't've let him push you like that. I honestly think he started out joking, but at some point it crossed a line, and that's when I should've stepped in. I guess I was hopin' he'd shape up and listen to Roy so I wouldn't have to step in. I guess I wanted to see if you guys could handle it yourselves… and I didn't think it was so serious it would come to blows."

"I'm sorry, Cap, I didn't mean to hit him," Chet says earnestly, "Honest I didn't. I just-… he just kept pushin' and-and I couldn't-… I was just so mad, Cap. I-I didn't even realize I was-"

"It's alright, Chet. I'm not gonna punish you for something that's not your fault. I would like to talk to you, though," he says, sending relief flooding through your system until he looks to you, "Marco, would you give us some privacy please?"

You don't want to leave, but you can't exactly tell him no. You give Chet's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, replying, "Sure thing, Cap. I'll wait up for you, amigo," and head out of the office. There are muffled voices in the locker room, and you feel your stomach give a funny little flop, that tendril of anger creeping back in. You should go in there and tear John a new one for what he did today. There was no cause for that. He had no right to treat Chet like that. Anger flares in your chest but you shove it down, trying to push it out of your mind. Chet clearly has a reason to be upset. Maybe John acted the way he did for a reason, too. You take a calming breath before going into the locker room.

John tenses when you enter, looking down at his wringing hands, Roy and Mike sitting nearby. You can't see John's face well, since he's staring at his own lap, but what you can see is red. He feels bad. He's not proud of what he did. The sight washes more of your anger away, and you step closer and quietly ask, "John, please… I just-… why'd you do it?"

"I was… was just mad, I guess," John answers sheepishly, still not looking at you, "Anytime I'm upset about somethin', y'all just brush it off… like 'oh, there's Johnny just bein' worked up' and like whatever my feelin's are aren-aren't valid or somethin'. Y'all always laugh when Chet picks on me with waterbombs or flour bombs or with short-sheetin' my bunk or-or those coupla weeks ago when he was pickin' on me for bein' Indian. When does he ever get told to leave _me_ be, huh? So… I dunno, it just felt kinda good makin' him feel the way he makes me feel when he pulls that shit, and I just-… I just couldn't stop myself once I got goin'. Then, with everyone tellin' me to leave him be and all that, I-… it just made me wanna get to him even more. I know it's-it's childish, but it's the truth."

He finally looks up. Shame and embarrassment are clear in his face. The reason he gave isn't great, but it's better than ones he could have given. (Besides, you know how it feels to have to smile and laugh while someone insults your heritage just because everyone else is laughing.) You're still worried about Chet, and it must show in your face because John asks, "Do… do you know what's wrong?"

You shake your head, answering, "He didn't tell me what's wrong, but I hope he will. All I know is it's gotta be pretty bad for him to be so worked up. Honestly, John, you should probably leave before Cap and Chet come out of the office. I don't know if Chet's gonna be cooled off yet."

"Yeah, well, if he wanted to hit me again, I think I'd let him. I really deserved it."

You shrug, not wanting to outright tell him you agree. He may have a reason for acting the way he did, but he still got what he deserved, in your opinion. You step out into the bay, waiting for Chet to emerge. John and Roy leave not too long after that, though Mike remains. The engineer steps up beside you, saying, "It's gonna be okay, Marco. Chet's gonna be alright. This was just somethin' that got outta hand."

You say nothing. Mike stands silently at your side, a comforting presence during an uncomfortable wait. When the two men finally emerge, Chet's face is pink, his eyes wet. You smile warmly at him, extending an arm to him and putting it around his shoulders, leading him into the locker room. He doesn't speak while he finishes dressing, and neither do you. He sniffles the whole while. Only when he's fully dressed does he quietly ask, "Can I talk to you, Marco? Outside? Uh… in my van, maybe?"

"Of course," you reply, "You can talk to me about anything, Chet. C'mon…"

Mike and Cap enter the locker room after you leave, presumably to tidy up the mess left behind. Chet hurries out to the van, a grubby old thing he somehow keeps running, and climbs into the driver's seat while you hop into the passenger side. A choked noise escapes his lips almost immediately, and the sound makes something in your chest clench. You reach out and grip his arm just above the elbow. He brings his other hand up to cover his mouth, his eyes filling with tears.

"Hey, _manito_, _cual es tu problema_?" you ask quietly, "C'mon, talk to me."

He shakes his head. You squeeze his arm reassuringly, saying, "Please, Chet… please talk to me."

"Mar-Marco-… it's… it's my mom," he chokes out, "She-she has lung cancer an-and she's dying-"

He stifles a sob, squeezing his eyes shut, two fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Your heart clenches in your chest and a lump rises in your throat. In a million years, you never expected this. Why didn't he say something before now? You whisper, "Chet, I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry…"

"It's-it's not fair! She was diagnosed in-in March and by the end of the month they told her she was gon-gonna die. She's-… I cleaned out her apartment, Marco, 'cause she spends all her time in the hospital, and I hafta work OT to pay the medical bills when all I wanna do is-is spend time with her. An-and that bitch Laura dumped me 'cause I wasn't payin' her enough attention and I'm puttin' on weight from all this fuckin' stress and I-I can't-! Fuck, Marco, I can't take it-!"

The sound that issues forth from behind his hand is strangled and miserable, something between a wail and a sob. Tears blur your vision. You move the armrests out of the way and shift to the edge of the seat, pulling him in to your shoulder, cradling the back of his head. Thick curls fill your fingers, brush the line of your jaw. You desperately wish you had something of note to say, something calming, something soothing, but there was nothing. Nothing could soothe the pain of knowing his mother is going to die, will die slowly and painfully. Your tears spill over. Chet shakes against your body, sobbing in earnest.

"It's okay, Chet," you soothe softly, rubbing your thumb against his scalp, "_Manito_… hush, _manito_… _estoy aquí_… _estoy aquí para ti_… I'm here, Chet… you're alright… _estás bien_… Just go ahead and let it out… that's it… _sí, te tengo_… I've got you, _mi manito_…"

His shoulders heave with sobs he must've been holding in for months. Rage starts to bubble up at John, but you force it down. This is not John's fault. He didn't know why Chet is so upset. How could he? You wish there was someone to blame for this because Chet deserves so much better than what life has given him over the years. You rub his back as his shoulders jump under your touch, just wanting him to stop crying. It doesn't make you uncomfortable. It makes you sad, sad knowing he's so upset, that bad things keep happening to him like this.

"I'm… I'm sorry, Marco," he sniffles after a few minutes, "I just couldn't-"

"Don't be sorry, Chet. There's nothing to be sorry for," you tell him, your hand still on the back of his neck, "What's happening is awful, and I just wanna help you however I can. I mean that, too. Whatever you need, Chet, you make sure to call me day or night."

"That's what Cap said."

"That's 'cause he's a good captain. Now, you let me drive you home, to _my_ home, and I'll take you wherever else you need to go today. You can spend the night, play with the kids, have some good meals… then I'll bring you to work tomorrow."

"No, I-I couldn't, Marco. I couldn't impose-"

"It's not an imposition, Chet, you're my friend, one of my best friends, and I want to help, so let me."

He's silent for a moment but then nods, sniffling and wiping at his face. The two of you transfer over to your car, and you spend the rest of the day with him, wanting to make sure he's okay… as okay as he can be under the circumstances, at least.


	4. Kelly

_**To everyone who has enjoyed and left positive or at least constructive reviews on this fic, thank you so much. I appreciate every word of constructive criticism and intend to use it to improve my future works.**_

_**I politely ask for any reviews left at this stage to be respectful and constructive. I ask that they only relate immediately to the story. I ask that folks not argue with each other in the reviews (as they have been doing). It gets very frustrating to see that I have a review and get very excited to see what people have to say about my work, only to find that it's just people arguing with each other over... whatever. **_

_**I hope you all enjoy the final chapter.**_

* * *

You've never been so happy to leave the station. The whole shift has been hell, between Johnny doing his damnedest to make you miserable and knowing your mom's not doing well and the bullshit that went on with Laura. Leaving won't necessarily be a relief, but it'll certainly be better than staying. You wonder if this has anything to do with the whole Indian thing from a couple weeks ago and chew your lip, thinking perhaps you ought to have apologized for what you said. If you weren't so pissed off at him and the world in general right now, you probably would.

You strip out of your uniform and start pulling on your civvies, changing into a fresh t-shirt and stepping into your jeans. Footsteps come up beside you, Johnny's footsteps, and you tense up. Why can't he just leave well enough alone?

"Come on, Chester B, what's the matter? That pretty 'lil thing you were seein' finally get sick of ya?"

Your nails dig into your palms, hands clenched into tight fists. Johnny continues, "Now, what was her-? Oh, _Laura._ That's it. Laura drop ya?"

Heat spreads across your chest and into your face. Your jaw is tight as you grind out, "Gage, I'm warnin' you. Drop it or I'll-"

"Or you'll what? Come on, I'm just tryin' to have a 'lil fun with ya."

"Well, I'm not havin' fun, so how 'bout you stop tryin'," you snap.

You can't understand why he just won't leave you alone and let you go home. Part of you wants someone to step in, to make him stop, to make him leave you alone and go away. Part of you wants an excuse to hit him. Every muscle in your body is taut.

"Aw, lighten up, Chet," Johnny smirks at you, "You been a wet blanket all day."

Somewhere behind you, Roy mutters, "Johnny, come on, Junior, just drop it and-"

"No! He's allowed to pick on me when I'm feelin' like shit! What, Kelly, can't take your own medicine?"

Rage bubbles hot in your chest. Is that what this is about? Jokes? Pranks?

"Goddammit, Gage, I told you-"

"At least I know it's Laura's got you upset-"

"Shut the fuck up-"

"Come on, why'd she do it, Kelly? She don't like your winning personality?"

Surely you've broken the skin of your palms by now. There must be blood dripping onto the floor. Your blood thunders in your ears, pulses violently through your veins. You want an excuse. Johnny's face is a cruel sneer.

"Or maybe it was your stupid fuckin' jokes? That dumbass moustache? Your shitty cookin'?"

"Gage, I swear to God," you bite out, "you shut the fuck up or-"

"-'cause it looks to me like maybe she was doin' the cookin' for ya. Givin' ya four meals a day, looks to me. Maybe that's her thing, y'know," he tells you, stepping closer, "feed a guy up then dump his fat ass-"

He jabs a finger into your side, and that's it. You throw a heavy right hook, and then the rage takes over. You aren't aware of anything until Cap has you pinned in a chair and shouts, "Sit here and calm yourself down, Kelly! You sit here and wait for me to come back, understand?"

You don't respond, your chest heaving. You can barely hear over the blood pounding in your ears. Tears blur your vision, but you can see Marco's face there in front of you. His brown eyes are lined and worried. You shouldn't be putting Marco through this, through this not-knowing, not a worrier like him. He's your partner, your best friend, and he should know why you're so upset, but not right now… later. You don't think you're capable of saying much of anything coherent right now. Marco's voice is low and soothing, telling you, "Look, it's okay, Chet. Whatever's goin' on, it'll be okay…" and it calms you some. It won't be okay, of course, but he doesn't know that. Your hands are still balled into fists.

Cap comes back into the office, making you jump. He's surely going to suspend you, probably without pay. That's something you can't afford, that neither you nor your mother can afford, not with your elder brother refusing to help or even acknowledge what's happening and with not allowing your sister help, not when she's just a waitress and can barely pay her own rent. Panic starts to bubble up in your chest, but you feel Marco's hand on your shoulder, a comforting weight, and it eases the panic some. Cap pulls a chair around to sit in front of you, something you don't quite expect. His expression is unreadable, and the panic starts to come back a little, though he doesn't look angry.

"I'm sorry, Chet."

That's not what you were expecting, either. You blink at him, unsure how to respond to something so unlike what you were anticipating.

"I mean that. I should've spoken to Johnny earlier about his behavior," Cap explains calmly, almost solemnly, "I shouldn't've let him push you like that. I honestly think he started out joking, but at some point it crossed a line, and that's when I should've stepped in. I guess I was hopin' he'd shape up and listen to Roy so I wouldn't have to step in. I guess I wanted to see if you guys could handle it yourselves… and I didn't think it was so serious it would come to blows."

"I'm sorry, Cap, I didn't mean to hit him," you blurt out, "Honest I didn't. I just-… he just kept pushin' and-and I couldn't-… I was just so mad, Cap. I-I didn't even realize I was-"

"It's alright, Chet. I'm not gonna punish you for something that's not your fault. I would like to talk to you, though," Cap says, then looks to your partner, "Marco, would you give us some privacy please?"

You don't want him to go, and you know he doesn't want to go, either. Still, Marco replies, "Sure thing, Cap. I'll wait up for you, amigo," giving your shoulder a squeeze and heading out. You watch him go, still tense, still upset.

"Would you like to talk to me about what's going on, Chet?" Cap asks, his tone far gentler than you deserve, "It seems to me like there's been a lot on your mind since you got here yesterday morning."

Your stomach bottoms out.

"Did I screw up on a run-?"

"No, no, you did just fine on those few runs we had," he tells you, and relief floods your system, "just as good as usual. Just… that was a very strong reaction you had in there, and you weren't yourself here around the station this past shift. I can tell something's bothering you. Marco, too."

You look down at your lap. You don't want to tell him, not really. You don't want him to feel sorry for you. People have been feeling sorry for you and your family since your father died, and quite frankly, you're sick of it. You hate the looks of pity and sadness. You hate the murmured words behind your back saying what a shame it all is. You hate the sanctimonious and empty 'we-wish-we-could-help's. That's why you haven't said anything. If the men you work with were to start doing that… maybe Cap won't, though. He's only been at 51s a few months, but he seems like a good man.

"It's-… will this stay between us, Cap? Just me and you?" you ask thickly.

"Absolutely. I won't share anything you don't want me to."

You still can't look at him, not with tears in your eyes and your lip trembling. You take a minute to compose yourself, to make sure your voice will be steady, and you finally tell him, "It's-it's my mom. She-… she was, uh, was diagnosed with-with lung cancer earlier this year, and it's-… she's not doing too good, Cap."

There's a brief pause in which you can almost hear him processing the information.

"Chet, I'm very sorry to hear that. I wish you would've told me sooner. I'd have arranged some time off for you."

"I-I can't. I have to help pay the medical bills," you reply hurriedly, "She doesn't have any money anymore, and my brother-…nevermind. I've been pickin' up OT, actually, just to make ends meet for me and her. Last week, I-… she asked me to clean out her apartment and-and let the landlord know it was open to rent out again. He was, uh, was really good about it, but I just finished yesterday, and-… it's just-…"

You stop, pulling in a shaking breath and wiping at your eyes. You don't want to cry in front of Cap.

"Is there anything else bothering you? I mean, that seems like enough, but I feel like there's a little more behind it. Please, Chet, keep talking."

"There's just been a lot to deal with lately, with Mom bein' sick, and I- now you gotta promise not to laugh, okay?"

You turn pleading eyes on him, needing him to understand that what you're about to tell him is important, that you don't want to tell him but feel you need to. Cap reaches out and lays a hand on your shoulder, saying, "I promise, Chet. I won't laugh."

There is heat rising in your face, and you sniff, taking the time to put the words together before they come out of your mouth for once.

"Well… like I said, I been under a lot of stress, and when I'm stressed out, I… I eat a lot. More than usual. And Johnny was right. Laura did break up with me… like two days ago."

"Did she say why?"

You almost snort, replying, "Yeah… yeah, she told me I wasn't payin' her enough attention, you believe that shit, Cap? My life is a fuckin' disaster right now, and she's pissed I'm not takin' her out enough. Add that to me puttin' on some extra weight, especially when I was picked on as a kid for-for bein' fat, and Johnny just got on my last fuckin' nerve in there."

"Sounds to me like he deserved it," Cap replies, gently, "Thank you for telling me all that, Chet. I know how hard it can be to confide in your captain, especially a new one. I just wish you would've told me sooner. We're here to help you, every man on this shift, and I wish we could've helped you before now, in anyway you needed us to. We're not just your coworkers here. We're your friends. If you want my opinion, I think you oughta tell the guys what's going on, but it's entirely up to you, and I promised you already I wouldn't share anything without your go-ahead, and I can't tell you what to do. I would like to be informed of what's going on with your mother, though, especially because it's upsetting you, okay, pal?"

You nod, "I will, Cap. I'll keep you updated."

You don't agree to tell anyone else, though… except maybe Marco. You'll tell him, but no one else.

"That means you call me whenever you need me, can call my home day or night. I want you to ask for help if you need it. You don't have to go this alone, alright?"

Something warm flares in your chest, something nice and bright and comforting. Yes, Hank Stanley is a good man.

"Yes, Cap."

"Good. Now, are you alright to drive home, Chet?"

"I think so. I think I'll be okay."

The smile Cap gives you is gentle and almost paternal as he squeezes your shoulder. You try to smile back, but your heart's not in it. Cap lets you leave, and you shuffle out of the office, slightly embarrassed at realizing you're only half-dressed. Your heart leaps at seeing Marco there waiting for you, just as he said he would be. He wears a warm smile and puts an arm around your shoulders, leading you into the (blessedly) empty locker room. You finish dressing in silence, and you're grateful to him for not trying to make you open up or talk as you pull on your t-shirt and sneakers. Tears inexplicably fill your eyes. It's been like this lately, where any little thing could have you in tears. Right now, it's Marco's unabashed loyalty and patience and love.

"Can I talk to you, Marco? Outside?" you sniff, "Uh… in my van, maybe?"

"Of course. You can talk to me about anything, Chet. C'mon…"

Cap and Mike enter the locker room as you leave, though you keep your head down. Your tears are coming with no way to stop them, like a dam ready to burst. You're both barely into the van when a choked noise escapes your lips, and you cover your mouth to try and keep another from joining it. Marco's grip is gentle and reassuring, squeezing just above the elbow. Tears fill your eyes, ready to fall.

"Hey, _manito, cual es tu problema_?" he asks quietly, "C'mon, talk to me."

You shake your head, unable to speak. It's too much. The dam could go at any second. Marco squeezes your arm reassuringly, saying, "Please, Chet… please talk to me."

His presence is warm, calming, strengthening. It's just enough.

"Mar-Marco-… it's… it's my mom," you finally choke "She-she has lung cancer an-and she's dying-"

You fight down a sob, squeezing your eyes shut and sending tears rolling down your cheeks. That's the first time you've really said it. You usually just say that she's 'in a bad way' or 'not doing well.' By not saying it, you could keep the knowledge at bay, but no… not anymore. She's dying. Marco's voice is a rough whisper, "Chet, I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry…"

"It's-it's not fair!" you burst out, tears rolling freely down your cheeks now, "She was diagnosed in-in March and by the end of the month they told her she was gon-gonna die. She's-… I cleaned out her apartment, Marco, 'cause she spends all her time in the hospital, and I hafta work OT to pay the medical bills when all I wanna do is-is spend time with her. An-and that bitch Laura dumped me 'cause I wasn't payin' her enough attention and I'm puttin' on weight from all this fuckin' stress and I-I can't-! Fuck, Marco, I can't take it-!"

The dam bursts. It explodes with violence and destruction unequaled. You can't hold back the miserable noise that issues from your throat, a wretched sound, something between a sob and a wail. Marco pulls you in to his shoulder, holding you close. You haven't properly cried since this whole thing began. You didn't cry when she was diagnosed, not when you learned the cancer was malignant and incurable, not when they informed you she only had months to live. There was always someone else to be strong for, whether it was your mother or your baby sister or any number of cousins or aunts or uncles. There just hasn't been anyone for you to lean on… not until now. It's almost a relief to cry like this, to have someone who won't judge you, to have someone who doesn't care that you're crying yourself into exhaustion but only cares that you're hurting and wants to help.

Marco's voice rumbles in his chest, though you can't make out the words. You feel his hand at the base of your skull, the back of your neck, rubbing across your shoulder blades and spine. Long minutes pass before you stop sobbing, before you're calm enough to sniffle, "I'm… I'm sorry, Marco. I just couldn't-"

"Don't be sorry, Chet. There's nothing to be sorry for," he replies, his hand still resting comfortingly on the back of your neck, "What's happening is awful, and I just wanna help you however I can. I mean that, too. Whatever you need, Chet, you make sure to call me day or night."

"That's what Cap said," you tell him.

"That's 'cause he's a good captain. Now, you let me drive you home, to _my_ home, and I'll take you wherever else you need to go today. You can spend the night, play with the kids, have some good meals… then I'll bring you to work tomorrow."

"No, I-I couldn't, Marco. I couldn't impose-"

"It's not an imposition, Chet, you're my friend, one of my best friends, and I want to help, so let me."

You're ready to cry again. Marco's the best friend you've ever had, and true to his word, he spends the whole day with you. You're more grateful to him than he will ever know, grateful for him being strong when you simply couldn't anymore.

Johnny approaches you at the start of your next shift, and you feel yourself tense up. You really can't take any more abuse like he dished the other day. You're shocked when he actually, truly apologizes. He can't even look at you when he does so, and he's so clearly ashamed by his behavior you can't help but forgive him. Besides, he didn't mean it. Well, he did, but not in the same way that someone else would mean it. It's complicated, but you understand it, and that's what really matters. Perhaps you ought to apologize for the whole Indian thing from a couple weeks ago. Johnny deserves that much, at least. Perhaps you'll do it next shift and let him squirm a bit. Johnny kind of deserves that, too.

Catherine Mary Buchanan Kelly dies about a month later, in the late afternoon of 15 August 1971, having been unconscious for nearly five days prior. You're thankful to have been there when she was still conscious, when she could still see you and speak to you, you and your little sister. She didn't tell you good-bye. She only told you and your sister to both be good and look out for each other. Expected though it was, her death isn't easy. Your sister heads to a close cousin's for the night, and you go home to your own apartment. It's dark and cold and uninviting, though it's just the same as before she died. Grief and cold despair wrap around your heart, squeezing tight, and you just feel so goddamned lonely. Your lip trembles. You look around your apartment, your gaze settling on your phone.

"_Hello, this is Hank Stanley."_

"Cap? I-It's-It's Chet."

"_Chet? What's wrong? What happened?"_

"She's gone," you tell him, your voice thick and broken, "She-she died this afternoon with-without waking up."

There's a quiet, forlorn sigh on the other end of the line, a soft noise that speaks of sadness. Cap tells you softly, _"You take all the time you need, Chet. I'll make sure everything at the station is taken care of. You do what you need to do, okay? It'll be alright."_

"I know, but it doesn't make it any easier," you choke out, "It-… it hurts, Cap."

"_Believe me, pal, I know it. I know. You want some company?"_

"No," is your immediate reply, not wanting him to see you like the wreck you are while your soul desperately pleads for comfort.

"_Do you _need_ some company?"_ he asks quietly, gently, like he knows.

"…yeah… yeah, I do."

"_Alright, I'll be right over, Chet."_

And he is. He's there in less time than you expected. What a good man. He hasn't even been your captain for a full four months yet, and here he is on your doorstep, ready to sit with you for what could become a very long night. You invite him in, saying, "Sorry a-about the mess in here, Cap. Haven't really had, uh, had much time to-to clean. Um, here lemme, uh, le-lemme tidy up a-a bit. Just-"

"Don't worry about it, Chet. You just sit down and take it easy. Here…"

He takes your elbow and leads you to your couch, easing you down and sitting beside you. You're still on edge, muscles tense, wringing your hands in your lap. Cap ignores your rumpled, day-old clothes, his hand slipping around to your back.

"I'm sorry, Chet… I'm so, so sorry," he murmurs, "I know how you feel. I really do."

He doesn't really understand. He can't. Nobody can. Your life has never really gone to plan, and this is just another example of that. Tears fill your vision and roll down your cheeks. Alone. You'll always be alone. You choke down a sob, but the noise escapes anyway. The dam is faltering again, not rebuilt quite so strong as you thought. A broad hand starts rubbing your back, moving slowly along your spine. Why the fuck did you tell Cap to come over? You don't want to cry in front of him, don't want to appear weak in front of your captain. You wipe uselessly at your eyes, your breaths hitching almost painfully.

"It's okay, Chet," he tells you quietly, "You're allowed to be sad. This a sad thing that's happened. It's okay for you to mourn."

You nod, unable to speak around the lump in your throat. His hand still rubs your back. A low keening sound passes your lips, followed by a hiccoughing breath. Cap speaks again, his voice a bit rougher and thicker than it has been, "You're okay, pal. Come on… I'm here for you… You're alright, Chet… you're alright, I've got you… I've got you… you can let go now…"

Emotions crash up against the dam, its walls creaking and groaning under their weight and force, ready to burst. You suck in another shuddering breath, and that's it. The breaking point. A sob fights its way out, escaping your throat and lips in a violent outburst that makes Cap jump beside you. Raw grief comes pouring out. Just because your mother's death was expected doesn't make it any easier. She had basically died three times over: when she was diagnosed as terminal, when she went unconscious, when she finally died and ended her suffering.

Your stomach clenches when you realize some of your tears are of relief, relief at her not suffering anymore, and you only cry harder. They're great, heaving sobs, born of wretched wailing that leaves your body shaking and your stomach churning. You could probably throw up if you'd actually eaten in the last three days, but you can only cough against the burning bile crawling up your throat.

Cap holds you close, half against his side and half against his chest. His voice rumbles low in his chest, and you feel it more than hear it. You almost hate that it makes you want to curl up like a small child… almost. He just holds you until your tears finally run out, until the only sounds from you are ragged breaths, until you're limp against him. His voice still rumbles like thunder on the horizon.

"I don't want you alone tonight, pal," he tells you quietly, "so you've got two options: You can stay with someone from the station, like me or Marco, or I can take you to a family member's house. It's up to you."

"Umm… there's-there's my cousin's," you reply in a rough voice, "my cousin Frank and his wife Alice, I mean… my sister's there now."

"So why aren't you there, Chet?" he queries, his tone not accusatory but merely curious.

"I… I dunno," you mumble.

You don't really know yourself, honestly. Perhaps it has to do with not want to see those pitying looks you detest so much. Perhaps it has to do with the possibility of seeing your scumbag brother there… perhaps it has to with the probability he won't be there. Perhaps it's just because you don't want to see your baby sister cry anymore.

"C'mon, pal… go pack a bag and I'll drive you there."

"No, Cap, I can drive-"

"Like hell you can. You'd end up in a ditch or in the ass end of another car or worse. I won't allow you to put yourself in danger like that, not you and not anyone else. Just let me help you out, okay, Chet?"

His words cut right to your heart, nearly setting off more tears. You pack up your duffle and get into Cap's sedan, carefully building the dam back up, bigger, stronger. It mustn't break again, especially not when you'll have to be the strong one once more.


End file.
